


but you are everywhere

by brave_atheart



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky’s got a mouth like a sailor, Devotion, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies AU, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, OT3, PTSD, Peggy saying ‘my darling’ in that way yes you know what way, Pining, Polyamory, Timeline? Don’t know her, WWII, WorldWarThreesome, angst and then joy, au where Steve and Peggy and Bucky get this happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brave_atheart/pseuds/brave_atheart
Summary: “This is special,” she says solemnly, and Steve feels a rush of humbling gratitude for her. “Steve is special. Doesn’t he deserve the very best?”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peggy Carter, James "Bucky" Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 115





	but you are everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy some world war threesome as they find their way together - I’ve been listening to “Brooklyn in the Summer” by Aloe Blacc on utter repeat:
> 
> “Trying not to stare but you are everywhere,  
> You’re everywhere that I’ve ever known  
> You feel like Brooklyn in the summer  
> Been hiding, half awake for so long  
> And it's the subtleties that only you've ever seen  
> Bringing the mess of me back together.”

Close Shave

Like an idiot, Bucky very nearly goes and gets himself killed.

In an instant, he is falling, seeing Steve’s face petrified with horror, and then Steve grabs his arm and yanks, wrenching him back from oblivion. Then they’re clinging to the side of that train like mad, joints screaming in protest, limbs tangled and bodies overlapping.

"Mother of god," Bucky gasps, as Steve manages to haul him once and for all away from the edge.

“Jesus," he pants as he pulls Bucky closer, and even now Bucky marvels at the bulk and heat of him, so solid and implacable against the elements. "Don’t you  goddamn scare me like that,” Steve hisses, and Bucky holds him tight and counts his lucky fucking stars.

...

Long Night

Then it’s Stevie’s turn to go and get himself killed. If only temporarily. Not that anyone knows that at the time.

The night after the crash, with Howard’s patrols frantically combing the Arctic Ocean, Bucky’s shoulder has recovered enough for him to leave the medics, and turn to a different solace, one that comes in a bottle and shines like amber.

Peggy searches all over until she finds him, studying the slump of his shoulders and the shake of his hands.

She comes up carefully beside him, hating to impose, but unable to stay away. If there’s anyone who could share in her bone-deep fear, it’s Barnes. Even if she’s never understood him, she understands his devotion to Steve. Steve, who’s currently been missing for over twenty-four-bloody-hours, the noble, selfless, bull-headed idiot.

She doesn’t speak as she sits neatly on a stool beside him and matches him drink for drink as the hours continue to tick by. The radio plays a stream of melancholy love songs, ballads and laments. Or maybe Peggy’s nervous heart is just hearing them that way, tonight.

Then Barnes begins humming along, melody after melody, and Peggy lets his gentle voice wash over her like the sea. He sings along to the radio, soft as air. He used to sing to Steve, she remembers, or rather,  at Steve, broad and operatic, as a joke, the way people with lovely voices do sometimes to hide their talents. But he’s not hiding from her now.

 _ “ Please let me explain _ _,_ ” he sings achingly, his eyes glassy and far away. She swallows over a lump of impatient fear and debates putting her hand over his own on the bar top. Or smoothing back the hair which has fallen over his forehead.  “ _So_ _kiss me,_ ” he mouths absentmindedly, drumming his fingers on the counter. “ _A_ _nd_ _say you understand.”_ The last notes are whittled down to whispers as he raises his glass and downs the last dregs of whatever passes for whiskey on this godforsaken base. Peggy thinks he’s never made more sense to her than he does now.

“James,” she murmurs, and his blue eyes flick instantly to meet her gaze. He shakes his head.

“Carter,” he says, “I don’t feel much like talking.”

She finally does reach out and take his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together delicately.

“Me neither,” she says simply. That persistent dread has stolen her voice, just as it’s set his almost free.

They sit there and the radio plays all night. When the songs are finally replaced by a breaking news report live from Stark labs that their hero has been found and revived, they’re still holding on tight.

...

Bedside Manner

  
Captain America is alive and well, if a little chilly, and Bucky feels so good he thinks he could do a handstand and still hit a dime outta the sky with his rifle. He bursts into Steve’s ward with Carter’s toes tapping furiously beside him, and they swoop down upon him in tandem.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” they growl in near-perfect unison, and Bucky is too goddamned relived to think much about it.

Steve, the bastard, chuckles with barely a wince. “Consider me warned,” he says cheerfully.

...

Left Unsaid

Carter is really something else, honestly.

“I love him,” she declares evenly, arms full of classified reports, as if announcing her coffee order for the morning. “But because I love him, I only want—“ she shrugs. “He should make his choices,” she says cryptically, as if any man would be crazy enough to let a catch like the wild dame in front of him go. Bucky coughs.

“He deserves the very best,” he replies.

“Agreed,” she says, in that calm English way, and Bucky thinks he must be missing something.

...

A Proposal

  
Peggy is really something else, honestly.

Being with her for stolen minutes, stolen hours, isn’t enough. Back from the brink of an icy sleep sure sets a fire in a guy, and Steve counts his lucky stars and he runs his fingers through her hair and squeezes her warm body close. She hums in appreciation as she presses open-mouthed kisses under his ear, and it’s enough to make even a super-soldier swoon. 

“God, Peggy, marry me,” he sighs, and bless her, she doesn’t even flinch, just moans a shivery affirmative and pulls him impossibly closer.

Then she murmurs, between kisses, “Darling, are there things we haven’t--? Oh, I want us to be honest with each other.”

“Me, too,” he says eagerly, stroking his thumb across her smooth cheekbone.

"I can't cook,” she says bluntly, and he loves her for it. “Not a bit. I’m sure if I tried - but honestly, why bother-?"

“Restaurants,” he counters, and adds, “and Bucky can make a feast from nothing-“

“Yes, that’s it, let’s all go back to New York, away from Europe,” she suggests.

“What’s England like? Your England?” he asks, because he feels he should know what she’s leaving behind.

She closes her eyes. “Green, and old, and full of secrets. You think Puck might be around every corner.”

“Sounds like a lot to give up.”

“I have enough secrets to contend with,” she sighs. “I want a new home.”

He breathes deeply. “I want to sketch, and paint portraits of you, and buy a motorbike--“

“A convertible for me,” she says with a gleam. “And even after the war, there’ll be my work--“

“Yes, you’re too good--“

“I won’t give it up-“

“I won’t ask you to.”

“I know that, darling.”

He swallows. “And there's Bucky."

"I know that, too,” she nods.

“I don’t know how to explain,” he tries, but that isn’t quite right, is it? He knows there is, has always been, something between them. Something he’s never had the courage to name.

“I know, I think I really do,” she murmurs. “Your heart, your good heart, Steve, it’s so full-“ she smiles softly. “I think I do,” she repeats soothingly. 

Steve hesitates before diving in. “You know, once, we were in a fight in a bar back home, and afterwards there was...a moment, I guess.”

Peggy nods carefully, fingers smoothing his collar.

Steve shakes his head. “I uh, almost convinced myself it was a dream.”

It was back in Brooklyn, in the last days before Bucky shipped out for training. They had stumbled out of the back of a seedy bar into an alleyway, where a naked bulb over the door cast a reddish haze on the street. It felt like a dark room for photography, quiet and otherworldly, so the noise of the bar and the city faded into nothingness. They were frustrated and sore from a stupid fight - some guy had made a crack about Steve that Bucky couldn’t let stand. But as the door swung shut behind them, they looked at each other and burst out laughing, the kind of laughter that rips out of your chest, and they clapped each other on the back and shoved each other around.

Steve snickered. “You’re too drunk to throw a straight punch,” he remarked, remembering the neat line of whiskeys Bucky had tossed back.

“Punk,” Bucky spat with no malice, grinning and staggering just a little on the uneven street. “‘Could take ya any day of the week.”

Steve snorted and then coughed a little as the cool night air made his chest ache. Their laughter died down as they rested against the brick of the alley. It was quiet, then, just the sound of their breathing and the hum of Brooklyn at night.

“Punk,” Bucky said again, fondly this time, as he shook his head. He shoved his shoulder against Steve’s.

“You got it,” Steve smiled. Then he noticed a drip of blood oozing from Bucky’s hairline, a small scratch from another man’s fist. He reached out and pushed his friend’s hair back, smoothing it away from the cut.

Suddenly Bucky flashed a hand up and caught Steve by the wrist. Then he turned his face, slowly and precisely, so Steve’s hand cradled his head, so his lips were pressed into Steve’s palm. The movement was too purposeful to be passed off as a symptom of the drinks. 

Bucky kissed his palm. Carefully, gently. Then he flicked his gaze up, to look Steve in the eye, peering out from under his dark lashes. “Hey, Stevie,” he whispered, giddy. He swayed on his feet, close enough for Steve to see the sweat on Bucky’s brow, the shine of spit on his lips, the blush rising to his cheeks. Bucky glowed out of his every pore. He stepped close, his mouth parting gently, intentions radiating. The look in his eyes reached out to entangle Steve, making him dizzy with want, making everything that wasn’t the quirked line of Buck’s mouth suddenly disappear.

Their lips met. Soft enough to take back, if necessary. Steve thought of moth wings, like the ones darting around the flickering lamp of the bar. Bucky sighed, and slumped suddenly into Steve’s shoulder.

“And?” Peggy asks quietly, while Steve shrugs.

“And that was it. We went home. I poured Buck into bed, and I woke up the next morning convinced I’d imagined the whole thing. I still sometimes think I dreamt it all, honestly. We’ve never once -“ he purses his lips to keep them from twisting into a frown. “I mean, goddamn. We’ve never...” and he doesn’t know what else to say. He clears his throat. “But Peggy, he’s gonna be with me, ‘til the end, and it’s the same for me,” he explains.

Peggy’s face is full of a curiosity Steve recognizes from her fieldwork. A kind of hungry, shrewd determination that throws Steve for a loop. “I don’t mean I don’t- you know I’m crazy for you, absolutely nuts, right? I - what are you thinking?” he asks, suddenly nervous. Not ashamed exactly, but feeling vulnerable and lost.

“Oh, darling,” she says warmly, pressing her lips swiftly to his. “Whenever you’re ready, I really do think we could try something. But you see that it must come from both of us, don’t you?”

...

Victory March

It’s Bucky who hears the news first, the day before the declaration and the radio broadcasts, as it spreads throughout the base like lightning -  _it's over, the war is over, we're going home_ _!_ And he runs, wild-eyed, deeper into the buildings, needing Steve like he needs oxygen, but instead he finds Carter, clearly with the exact same intent, heading towards Steve from a different direction, and hey, if that wasn’t just a perfect fucking metaphor.

“Bucky!" she cries, and then she’s sprinting towards him, arms flung out and a blazing look on her face, and without thinking he runs to meet her, gasping and desperate. He catches her swiftly in his arms, lifting her high and swinging her around, feeling as though they could fly away. “It’s over! My god, it’s all over!” she’s crying in jubilation, her face pressed against his neck.

"I know, I know!” he crows with victory, feeling a vicious surge of  _fuck you_ towards the universe.  _Look at that, you can’t take them from me!_ he thinks as he holds Peggy fast. And it’s only then he realizes that she is fighting back sobs, her body trembling, which is so unlike her, usually so cool and unflappable. He puts her down hastily and she clings to him frantically. “We're alive! We're all alive,” she keeps stuttering, whimpering through her tears.

“Oh honey, don’t-“ he feels a bit panicked as she scrubs frustratedly at her wet cheeks, sobs racking her frame. “Shh, shh,” he says, cupping her cheek.

“I just-“ she chokes off, her eyes shining, looking at him desperately. “I-“

“I know,” he promises, and hopes she really understands. He seizes a sudden impulse and draws her close again, so her head is tucked under his chin. He strokes her hair swiftly and presses his lips to her temple, holding her tight. “I know,” he repeats.

She hiccoughs and allows herself to be held. He breathes in her citrus-floral scent and tries to fucking keep it together, for her sake. The crowd surges around them, people are crying, shouting, laughing - somewhere close by a song has broken out, boisterous and overflowing with jangling voices - and the Commandos are around somewhere, but Bucky feels like he and Carter are a lone rock in the middle of a rushing river, just like the kind he so often saw scattered across the German countryside.

Carter sniffs and disentangles herself, leaving her palms flat against his chest, fingers twitching to clutch at his lapels. She looks up at him, with those soft brown eyes that know how to hold so many secrets, and he thinks that maybe this once he’s seeing right through her.

“Pegs-“ he says in a hoarse voice that almost gets lost amid the roar of celebration. “I-“

And then, out of nowhere, he is hit sideways by a great walloping force, and it’s Steve, fucking finally it’s Steve, Steve who is whooping and hollering and wrapping the pair of him in his massive embrace, and Bucky is going to pull away, to give them a minute to kiss while he gets his shit together, except Steve's arms are around them both, he‘s holding them all together, and Bucky couldn’t have moved if he’d even really wanted to.

“I love you!” Steve is saying loudly into his ear. “We did it, I love you!” he’s saying as he presses his cheek to Peggy’s. 

And Bucky just holds on tight.

...

Party Favour

  
Small mercies, there isn’t a whole lot of red tape holding them in place. The week after V-E Day is spent in equal parts celebration and administration, but it’s worth it to feel the jaws of victory stretching for once, in such a stark shining reality. 

Howard zooms around town, offering everyone cigars, shaking hands, and recruiting. 

“Dollface,” Howard croons after he and Peggy emerge from a strictly-high-clearance conversation. “Peggy, you’re so crazy good, I’m gonna wanna keep you around even after you get hitched to our Star-Spangled Man here!” Howard says, jerking a thumb in Steve’s blushing direction, and an open secret just got a lot more legroom. 

Bucky makes a joke about needing a little warning to write his best man speech, and high-tails it pretty sharp out of the party. 

Peggy smacks Howard across back of his head. “Genius,” she scolds, and he has the grace to look sheepish.

...

Another Proposal

  
Small mercies, there isn’t exactly many places a soon-to-be-discharged Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes could go around London without attracting some attention. Peggy and Steve find him soon enough. 

Steve hurries through the empty barracks when he spies Bucky hunched over an empty bunk nursing some contraband coffee and scowling. Steve, with Peggy fast on his heels - “ Of course I’m coming along, it really must be the pair of us ”-slows when he’s sure Bucky notices their presence, and approaches cautiously until he’s close enough to put a hand on his shoulder. “We oughta talk, Buck,” he urges, practically in Bucky’s ear.

His friend stands up abruptly, shaking off Steve’s grip. “You wanna talk, Steve?” Bucky snorts, throwing back the last of his coffee. He slams the cup down hard and pushes himself up, arms spread wide. “Sure, let’s talk, pal.” 

There’s a look in his eyes that makes Steve suspect that talking is rather low on Bucky’s list of priorities tonight. If anything, he looks anxious for a fight. 

“War’s over, Buck,” Steve says, but it makes Bucky’s eyes flash and his fists clench. 

“Jesus, I hadn’t noticed,” he scoffs, turning away. “What do you want, Steve?” he asks roughly. Then he glances at Peggy. “Unless it’s the bride-to-be who has something to say,” he accuses, and he’s looking at Peggy with such an expression of betrayal, of deep, wounding hurt, that Steve knows for sure now what Peggy has been guessing. 

“James,” she murmurs, and Bucky snorts derisively. 

“Don’t,” he warns, and strides away from them, but Steve is quicker and blocks his path. He glowers at Steve in fury, and this time he honestly thinks he might get hit, but Bucky rounds on Peggy instead. 

“What is this?” he spits, body radiating tension. “I thought we agreed, I - I bowed out, honey, I did, I’m not trying to cause any trouble for anyone-“

Steve nearly bowls over from the shock of this statement. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks loudly and rudely, because the words Bucky is saying are so goddamn stupid it makes Steve hasty. 

“You’re joking,” Bucky says, and he seems to almost deflate. “You - what, you need me to spell it out? I’m alright, everything’s gonna be fine!” he chuckles wearily. “Yeah, and we’ll all go home, so, forget about it-“

Steve steps a little closer, gazing intently at Bucky’s twitching expression. “What do you think we want to talk about, Bucky?” he asks in a hush. He nods in Peggy’s direction. “What do you think is going on?”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t-“

“I think you do,” Steve challenges him, his blood pounding in his ears. “And you’ve never been one to back away from anything, Buck.”

Bucky swears violently and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it of water. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he says, and Steve sees the color rising in his face. “What do you want me to say? I’m happy for you both!” he declares. “I mean, you’re Captain America!” he gasps, somewhat disbelievingly, holding his hands wide and gesturing to Steve like he’s some sort of display. “And you’re his best girl,” he nods at Peggy, bittersweet and miserable.

She holds his gaze. “And what are you, Bucky?” asks Peggy quietly.

“Me?” he looks taken aback. “I’m a queer, ain’t I?” Bucky says harshly, and he laughs, but it’s not bitter, or unhappy. It’s almost free.

“Don’t say that,” snaps Steve, his voice cracking. “You’re not that. If you are, then I am,” Steve protests, and he hears Peggy clear her throat.

“Of course I am,” says Bucky fiercely. “I’m in love with you,” he confesses. “So of course I am.” He strides up to Steve until he has to crane his neck to meet his gaze, close enough so their heaving chests almost meet. Again, for a moment, Steve thinks he’s about to get hit. 

Then Bucky’s face crumples. “Jesus, I remember when you weren’t gonna make it past sixteen,” he breathes. “And this, all this - I just can’t believe it,” he sighs, and Steve’s heart seizes. “And nothing’s changed, for me. Pint-sized or super, Stevie. I can’t let you go. But I’m trying,” he whispers, and darts his gaze over to where Peggy hovers near the door. “Believe me, Pegs, I’m trying my goddamn hardest, here,” he pleads, stepping towards her.

She shakes her head, her curls swaying. “Darling,” she whispers, stepping closer too. “I don’t think it’s working,” she says softly.

Bucky hitches his step while Steve takes a deep, shuddering breath and swipes the palms of his hands over his eyes.

“I’m stuck on you,” he says roughly, and when he glances back at Bucky, his can tell his eyes are wet with unshed tears. “My mind, my heart, Buck, I just - I’m set on you, too. There’s no going back.”

Bucky’s face drains of all colour, and he averts his gaze quickly to the floor. “Peggy-“ he starts, voice cracking, but Steve interrupts firmly.

“Peggy’s been the one to show me who I could really be,” he says. “And you’ve always been there to show me who I am.”

Peggy joins him carefully, taking his hand in hers. “This is special,” she says solemnly, and Steve feels a rush of humbling gratitude for her. “Steve is special. Doesn’t he deserve the very best?”

Bucky raises his head from where it was buried in his hands. “I- Steve, you gotta know that I...but we can’t, I would never,” he chokes off, shaking his head fiercely. “And it’s fucked up, I’m fucked up, Stevie, I don’t want that for you-“

“I’m telling you I do,” Steve practically groans, bursting from the truth of his words. “For us, for all of us, don’t you think we could?” he asks, and he knows he has to leave it up to Bucky. Peggy is sure, Steve is sure, and there’s nothing else to say.

Bucky turns away sharply, his heel swiveling like a private on patrol, and when his shoulders start to shake Steve thinks he might be sobbing. He glances at Peggy, who’s biting her lower lip in worry. He opens his mouth. “Bucky-“ he starts, but then his friend turns around and Steve sees he’s panting with suppressed laughter.

He wags a finger at Steve. “You, pal, are trouble,” he gasps. “Oh, from that first fucking day we met, I shoulda known you could pull something like this!” He hunches over with peals of laughter. “You are such fucking trouble, punk, I shoulda seen this coming!”

He continues to laugh until Peggy, her hand still holding fast to Steve’s, approaches him gently and places a hand on his cheek, calming him almost instantly. He catches his breath and gazes into her radiant, loving, brilliant face. Then Steve feels a tug in his gut as she takes Bucky’s hands in both of hers and places soft kisses on his knuckles, almost in benediction. Bucky trembles from it, his whole body shaking like a leaf, his mouth parted in shock and want. Peggy presses a last kiss, softly, to his lips. The quiet sound Bucky makes - a sort of soft moan as her lips meet his - has Steve flushing from head to toe. When she pulls away, Peggy turns to Steve.

Bucky shakes his head, looking dazed. “Is this real?” he asks hoarsely, and then it’s Peggy’s turn to watch as Steve’s face hardens with the ardency of his love.

“Yes,” he swears, then surges forward to capture Bucky’s trembling mouth in a passionate kiss.

Peggy promises then that she’ll never let herself forget the look on Bucky’s face as she gazes at him and Steve, knowing they’ve never been more in tandem than in this moment, as the thump of their heartbeats triumph together, thinking  _you love him, too, and I love you for that._

“My darlings,” she whispers tenderly, her chest tight with emotion. These brave, beautiful boys. She never wishes to part from them again.

...

Breakfast and Brooklyn

  
“Let’s go back to New York,” Peggy suggests easily the next morning over their London base mess hall breakfast - tea and toast for her, coffee and eggs for the boys.

They glance at each other across the dining hall table. Peggy folds back her newspaper brusquely and dabs at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “I think it’s time you boys showed off Brooklyn to me, isn’t it?”

Steve feels Bucky practically buzzing with energy next to him. He can see it all so clearly - walking together in Prospect Park with Peggy arm in arm between them, trips to Coney Island where Peggy would dare them to ride higher and higher coasters. They could tour all their old neighbourhood haunts, they would listen to the Dodgers on the radio, and God - Steve’s heart thumped at the thought of Peggy on her feet at Ebbet’s Field, her curls flying, screaming with them as a hit went soaring into the stands, her lipstick smeared across their faces—

“I think it’s time we show you off to Brooklyn, doll,” Bucky corrects her, smiling, and Steve can tell he’s nudging her foot under the table. 

Suddenly, Steve pictures a quiet Brooklyn brownstone with three pairs of shoes lining the front door.  Maybe that’s the best thing the city has to offer, really.

“I think this is it,” Steve says quietly, and is rewarded by identical quizzical smiles from the pair of them. “You know, from now on.”

Peggy huffs. “Well, really darling, what else did you think?” she says with an exasperated flash of her eyes. “I do think we have all gone through quite enough to get here.”

Then Bucky is chuckling with a dry mirth, and Peggy feels a bit bewildered.

“What?” she asks.

“Just promise me it’s not gonna be your turn to try and get yourself killed,” he pleads through snorts of laughter, and Peggy has to crack a grin.

“Sorry boys,” she says with a teasing wink. “Hazards of the job, and all that,” and Steve knows somehow that they’re all going to be in for something big together.

“But really, I’m not too worried,” she continues, smiling even wider. “I have heard somewhere that three is a lucky number.”


End file.
